


Seven

by FriedCatfish



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person, lots of speculation based on minimal evidence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:30:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4975462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriedCatfish/pseuds/FriedCatfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven human souls.</p><p>Each one's owner came in through the hole in the ceiling of the RUINS.</p><p>Each one's owner, save the last - or were they the first? - died and stayed dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven

One.

You can't believe your ears when the news reaches you - a Whimsun managing to blurt it out in between sobs. Asgore  **said** he would do it, of course, but he's said many things, and that was in the heat of the moment. But sure enough, not fifteen minutes later, he enters, carrying a pale blue soul in a canister designed by the Royal Scientist himself.

It's beautiful, in a way - shining if not glowing with power and emotion (fear, then anger, then glee, then fear once more - finally, regret). "She attacked us with a knife," he says. "Otherwise, I - I don't know if I could have gone through with it."

You nod solemnly, and tell him that there is no turning back now. One human soul, one monster soul. Enough to slip past the barrier and get the rest. Enough to free your people.

But instead he acts like nothing's  _changed._ He stands around and makes speeches and proclamations, and he preaches hope to his people. "This SOUL marks the first step in our great project," he says, hiding the terror that grips him when you so much as **mention** the second step. "Soon, we will have six more, and with it our freedom." They eat it up, either too ignorant to realize his inaction or deliberately refusing to acknowledge it.

That night, you stand in the room where... where they once slept. Where they once played together, best of friends. The same room where you once read them bedtime stories every night, the same room you and Asgore found yourselves getting misty-eyed over the idea of humans and monsters living together in harmony. And you think about the home you used to have, before the Ruins got too cramped - just like this one, but with only one bed in that room. Just like this one, but... closer to where any humans would fall in. There's already furniture - all you need to bring is your money, some clothes, your books and your cookware.

You're gone before the king wakes up.

Two.

The first one you greet holds you at gunpoint, and you need to talk them down. You can't help but fixate on the weapon (ornate but beat-up, an antique?) more than you focus on the human themselves. There's not a hint of fear in their eyes - just cold determination.

You ask what brought them to the mountain, but they just look away. Ashamed, maybe. You drop the subject.

They stay with you in the ruins for a while, but they never seem at ease. Whenever you leave the house, they grip their revolver tightly, even if you never see them fire it. A dozen ways, you try to reassure them; a dozen times, they listen intently, trying so hard to take it to heart.

They leave in the night, like you did, without even saying goodbye. For a while, the news doesn't reach you, and you wonder if they might have stayed safe, if they might have even  _made it out alive_ somehow.

And then, a few days later, you're walking through Waterfall to pick up your snails, an old cloak hiding your face and the royal crest on your dress. And when you do, you hear an echo flower say "bang." You keep walking.  _If - if they had to kill someone -_

"Bang," says another.  _If they had to kill **two** people, still, it would have been self-defense. What matters is -_

"Click. Crunch." says the third.

You half expect the fourth to laugh triumphantly, but... no. Just a splash and a whispered "I'm sorry." Gerson knew just as well as you do that there's nothing to celebrate here.

When you reach the farm, you buy your snails and head home as quickly as you can.

Three.

He's lean, and he's bloody, and he's constantly clutching at his chest, and he has nothing to defend himself with but some old leather gloves - but he's alive, and when you make it clear you're not going to hurt him he seems more grateful than anyone you've ever seen.

He... doesn't really bother with the puzzles. Says he can't afford to spend time on them, and just jumps straight over, or kicks the door open, or wades through the water nearby. You try to tell him it's not wise to strain himself further, but there's no arguing with him. Well - so be it, as long as he doesn't get hurt.

But when you get home, he tears through lunch and says he can't stay. He didn't mean to end up here, and he intends to be out as soon as possible. Says that staying in one place has only ever gotten him hurt - that the only sensible thing for him to do is keep moving. You think it's a bad idea, but... he knows what's best, right? And you doubt you could keep him here no matter how hard you try.

Not twelve hours after he leaves, one of your informants gives you the news - he was struck down by the Royal Guard halfway to Snowdin. He kept moving, refusing to acknowledge their blows even as they rained down harder and harder. Maybe he believed that they would stop if they saw he didn't want to fight.

He never stood a chance.

Four.

She follows after you like a duckling after its mother, frantically asking you questions about yourself and monsters and the underground. You answer every one, trying to hide the way your heart leaps getting a chance to teach her these things.

Perhaps, if not for your birthright, you could have been a teacher! Perhaps it's  _not too late to do that!_

At home, you read book after book to her, about history and about snails and about cooking and about art and about mathematics, and she calmly sits and listens, starry-eyed. And when you need to buy groceries, or feel cooped up, she walks alongside you, asking you to explore places you've never thought to look into before. The Ruins are still small, but with her, they feel much larger. There's always something new to discover.

Until there isn't.

Until you walk down every street five times. Until every book has been read at least once. Until that notebook of hers is out of space for sketches and stories. You can see her growing bored, and don't know what to say - you can't lie to her, and the truth will mean she leaves.

You decide to tell her about the library in Snowdin. "It is not that far, and if - if you just take some books and return quickly, you should be fine. You are strong, my child, and you are smart. I am sure that you can stay safe."

And for a while, it  **works.** She leaves in what passes for morning and comes back in what passes for evening with a stack of books in hand, and the newest issue of the newspaper. You think over the crossword together at dinner each night - your favorites are the ones with clues that rely on wordplay - and for a while, it seems like things are going to be alright.

Then the library runs out of books, too, and she gets familiar with the path to Snowdin. She's been to Waterfall, once or twice - came with you to pick up snails from the Blook family - and you already know what she's going to ask before she asks it.

 _She's done so **well** so far, _you tell yourself.  _And she wants to go so badly. Who am I to deny her?_

One week later, the news reaches you. They're over halfway there, now! Only three human souls left! All thanks to Gerson, the Hammer of Justice.

"Weird that he'd retire. He's been doing so well lately." "Well, if anyone's earned it, it's him."

Somehow, the news doesn't quite hit you until that night, as you bake snail pie without someone to help you de-shell the snails or roll out the crust. You break down sobbing, and feel as if you can barely stand.

Five.

This one - this one is your fault. You should have known from the faint, dusty footprints she left as she danced. Should have known by the petals in her hand, which she let drop when you entered the garden that evening. Should have known by the way that Froggit limped away when you scared it off, should have known by the way her eyes sparkled when you said she could go play and explore on her own.

But you've already trusted a murderer once (well - twice, but you don't realize that).  _Why break the streak?_ you think, laughing bitterly.

The monsters in the Ruins retreated to their homes, apparently, and when the news reached Snowdin the town had to be evacuated. An ice drake - that comedian's wife - things turned out poorly for her. But  **most** of them got away, you hear. The Royal Guard posted in the area held her off, to the last dog.

In Waterfall, thank god, she only managed to... "knock three down," is what they say, and they say the new Royal Scientist is looking into saving them. They say a girl named Undyne - you never met her - was the one to finally put the human down, though not before taking a nasty kick to the face. Asgore promoted her to the Captain of the Guard, apparently, because of  **course** the old oaf did,  **obviously** a leadership position has nothing to do with things like charisma or tactical ability or head for administration and everything to do with how many humans you've killed.

But as much as you despise the man, this death - this was self-defense. Everything that happened here is partly your fault, and you're not sure you'll ever be able to forgive yourself.

Six.

You're taking no more chances.

When this one falls down, you stay by his side from the start and do not leave. You carefully mete out your conversation, knowing that saying too much or too little means he'll want to leave sooner. You spend as much as you can on groceries imported from outside the ruins, making sure that there's  **always** something new for him to cook. You check on him three times a night when he sleeps, and above all else, you make sure the door is locked before you go to bed and after you wake up.

Maybe you overcompensated.

It's not long before you can see him getting uncomfortable. He's older than most of the others, and... maybe he's at the age where he needs his independence. You're terrified to give it to him, though. You know what will happen on the outside. It doesn't matter if they're the sweetest angel or a cold-blooded killer; humans come, humans go, humans die.

Your friend - you've been talking to him for months, now, shooting bad puns and old routines back and forth - he can tell the sorrow and anxiety that's starting to creep into your voice. You don't hide it. You know he's in the Guard, and - well, he doesn't like to talk about much besides that and his brother, but once or twice he's let slip that he's very knowledgeable, too.

If anyone can protect this child, it's Sans.

When the news reaches you... it's the first time you've heard your friend sad. He can barely bring himself to speak. "he... made it to hotland, and i don't have a post there. i thought he'd be alright without me. he was doing really well."

"I understand. It is not your fault."

He promises to get a post in Hotland, too. For next time.

Seven.

What's to say?

They come.  
They leave.  
They live.


End file.
